Turning Tables- War
by SomePoetGirl
Summary: Sacrifice seems to be the Winchester way... But when Dean loses his angel, there isn't enough Dean left to give. That won't stop him from giving anything and everything he has to get him back. Major character death, some mild Destiel but no smut.
1. Prologue

__Here we go! This is going to be an adventure :) This is my first fic, and the first paragraph was something I wrote as an omegle prompt! Well, have fun :)

* * *

_Castiel lay slumped on the ground by the front of the Impala, hand clutched against a long slash across his abdomen. He'd tried, so hard. More than anything, he had tried to save Dean. But not even he could escape what Dean had decided to follow. He didn't know, of course. Cas had been stealing pages from the journal, making sure Dean couldn't find what Cas knew he couldn't fight-what, of course Dean'd try to fight anyway. The creature Cas knew that without a doubt, Dean would die fighting. He had managed to kill the thing-but not without nearly killing himself. He groaned, adjusting his hand against the blood-soaked shirt and trenchcoat that were now plastered to his body. "D-Dean!" He mumbled hoarsely, barely making sound with what was intended as a yell. He cried with a bit more volume, "Dean!". His head fell back to the pavement, leaving him a broken shell, not quite a man, and perhaps not all angel, but with wings still scorched onto the pale, worn cement of the sidewalk._

_It was at this moment that Dean, perhaps hearing his name, or perhaps driven by hunger or lust or divine intervention, stepped out the door of his motel room, body turned behind as he exchanged a parting word with Sam. His head turned back to front, a laugh slipping out of his lips. Then he saw him._

_Cas lay where he had collapsed, a few steps from Dean's doorstep and hope. A trail of dark blood stained the pale cement, marking where Castiel had taken his last, staggering footsteps. Dean fell to the ground, a cry of "Cas!" escaping his lips. He shook the angel, begging him to hold on as his fingers sought out a pulse. He heard, somewhere in the distance, Sam running up behind him, but it didn't matter. Sam was a mile, a world, a universe away as Dean Winchester, hoping against hope, on his knees and begging for his best friends life, saw the scorched wings splayed onto the sidewalk. Castiel was gone._


	2. Chapter 1

Sorry this one's a shorty... I promise the next one will be nice and long!

* * *

There were no tears in Dean Winchester's eyes. He didn't feel a trace of sadness as he stood, letting the rapidly chilling hand of his angel fall from his fingers. It hit the ground with a dull _kathunk_, but Dean wasn't listening. He didn't care. He did not feel. He took a step backwards, spinning on his heel to look Sam in the face. His little brother recoiled from what he saw.

Sam had been watching, horrified, knowing the worst had come. When his brother swung around to face him, he had expected tears, shock, or pain. Likely, a combination of the three. But nothing could have prepared him for what Sam saw in his brothers' eyes. There wasn't a thing in the world that could possibly have shaken him more deeply than the pure emptiness in Dean's expression.

"Take care of that," Dean ordered his brother. He brushed past him, took a few steps into the motel and gathered up his keys and his duffel bag.

"_What?_" Sam asked, incredulous.

"I said, take care of that." Dean said flatly, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he left the motel room.

"What are you doing, Dean?! Cas is _dead_, and you're calling him 'that', like an animal? And now you're leaving?"

"What, I'm supposed to be sad? People die, Sammy. And he wasn't even a person."

Sam felt bile rising in his throat. "If you're going, go. Get out of my sight."

Dean smiled, a bone chilling grin that bode no good. "See you around, Sammy."

Sam's eyes stung with tears as he watched his broken older brother drive away in a glare of taillights, the bloody glow of them illuminating the face of the cold, dark, silent angel who still clutched at his abdomen.

Dean couldn't have cared less. His hand moved to the radio, swirling the volume dial up. _Highway to Hell_ blared out at him, inciting another small smile from Dean. Now that the original emotionless moments and internal struggle had worn off, he felt just fine. Better than fine. Alive and awake, more than he'd ever felt. So many people reported feeling trapped in their heads when this happened. Dean didn't feel trapped. A bit like he was sharing a room, yes, but not trapped. This was someone he could work with- they both wanted the same thing. He briefly mused on the fact the dark tattoo on his chest had done no good. In different circumstances, Dean would have worried over the effectiveness of Sam's identical tattoo. But then, he wasn't really Dean anymore. His eyes flashed, black and alive with ungodly purpose as he leaned into the seat, turning the radio up as loud as it would go and grinning as he sped through the night.


	3. Chapter 2

Sam grimaced, tossing another shovel-full of dirt to the side. His face was marred by dirt, fatigue, and tears. He wasn't quite sure on the burial protocol of angels, but a hunter's funeral didn't seem right. Castiel had not been a hunter- he'd been so much more. He had been a guardian, a bringer of justice, a warrior and a messenger; he had given them hope when hope was gone. But most of all, he had been a friend. The best, the most trusted friend Dean had ever had, Sam knew. Dean's savior. Castiel, the one who had shone brighter than the sun itself, literally as well as figuratively. It was hard to think back to before Cas had swooped into their lives and flipped it upside down. He winced slightly at his own bad pun.

He set the shovel against a big tree that twisted its way up into the clouds. Cas's body lay in a simple pine box on a sling. The angel had been slim in life, but Sam still gritted his teeth against the weight as he carefully lowered the casket into the ground. He looked down into the hole. A few tears slipped as he opened his mouth to deliver the best elegy he could; he took a deep breath and readied himself, as if preaching to an invisible congregation.

"_Cas_…" he said, his voice already threatening to break. "_I don't know what to say."_

He took another shaky breath.

_"Cas. You… were the best thing that's ever come along. For Dean and me. We... we've had so little, not really lot to hold on to, but… you came. And suddenly I saw Dean again. I had my brother back. And I saw him believe again and… he felt right. Not the cocky asshat he'd been for that year. He was him again. He was Dean."_

Sam bit his lip, another few tears falling.

_"You gave us so much. You saved him, and me, more times than I can count. You… you fell, for us. You've done things I don't want to remember. And things I'm never going to forget. Bu-but, it wasn't just the fighting, you know? Not the amount of times you kept us alive. You kept us sane. You were the best friend, the closest ally, Dean's ever had. Closer even than me, I think. No matter what you said, you were family to us. You are. You pulled Dean out and for that, I'm forever grateful. You put my brother back together again. Do you even know how broken he was- well, of course you do. You're an angel, after all… you were."_

Sam choked back a sob, aware he'd slipped into the present tense.

_"I believe you're still an angel. It's too hard to accept that you could be gone forever, no back door, no negotiation. No one but an angel could've made Dean ok again."_

He stopped fighting the tears. They fell, unabated, as he made his last remarks to Castiel.

_"He's not ok. He needs you, more than anything. I don't know if I can do anything_. _He's…", _ Sam angrily swept the tears from his cheeks, and continued, "_He's bad. I care about him, more than anyone and anything on this earth. And I can't fix him. Not the way you could."_

Sam picked up the shovel in both hands before finishing:

"_But I promise you one thing, Cas. I'm going to find him. I don't know what I'm going to find, but I'm going to. I promise."_

A sob broke forth from his chest, and he tossed the first shovel-full of dirt onto Castiel's coffin. In that moment, Sam Winchester swore he could hear a door slam closed- a life gone, forever.

He wasn't wrong.

A door did slam- a purely physical one. One that a certain brother of his happened to have slammed behind him . Dean strode forward into the warehouse, approaching his target.

"Hello, darling," Crowley said with a smile.

"Hello, Crowley."

"Why don't we talk face to face, just the two of us?" The demon king said, voice thick with meaning.

Dean fell to his knees, his head snapping back as the demon left his body. A few seconds later he collapsed forward. He panted for a moment, feeling sick. He waited till it passed (and he could see straight) before getting to feet. An arrogant smirk graced his features.

"God _damn,_ that's uncomfortable."

"Sorry, sweetheart. Now, the business at hand? I think you know what I'm referring to…"

Dean answered in a word. "Cas."

Crowley grinned. "He does seem to be a bit of a hot topic lately, doesn't he? First the fall, now _dead. _That is a bit messy, isn't it? Odd he still left wings behind, after. Guess you can't really take the angel out of a man, can you?"

"Yup. He's getting his fifteen minutes."

"And how do we feel about this?"

"Feel? _Feel?_ Have you met me?"

"Yes, sugar, that's why I find it so hard to believe you aren't torn up over this."

"What's it matter?"

"Because you know what's going to happen. Barter for his life, yadda yadda yadda. You two must really be in love, if you're planning to head back to hell again."

Dean burst out laughing. Crowley paused, confused.

"You think I'm ready to take another trip downstairs? Hell no, pardon the pun. That's not what I came to discuss."

Crowley's eyes widened, but he quickly put up his smile again. The moment of confusion was not lost on Dean.

"So you're not looking for him back? Well Dean, I like you better already," he cooed.

"Oh no, I want him back. But that's not what I'm offering."

"And love fades."

"Shut up. You should be thankful I stopped Sammy before he could cure your ass. Otherwise, you'd be dead, boring as hell, and short a general."

Crowley's jaw dropped.

Dean paused, his eyes widening. "Well shit. Let that slip, didn't I."

"A general?"

"Or foot soldier. Or cavalry. We all know I like a good ride," Dean smirked.

"You, a hunter, just flirted with the King of Hell. I think it may be time to reevaluate your life choices, pet."

"I regret nothing."

Crowley laughed. "But do tell me your plan… general, you say?"

"You're a demon. You have an army. You inevitably want to go gank the population at large. I say game on."

"And in return, I'm to spit Castiel back out?"

"If he's downstairs, yes."

"And if he isn't? He was an angel, after all. Shouldn't he be dying of piety on a cloud?"

"Then you help me go get him."

Crowley paused, almost shocked. "You want me, a demon, to go into heaven?"

"Why not? It's not like there's anyone up there anymore."

A chuckle escaped his lips. "True, true."

"Do we have a deal?" Asked Dean, extending a hand.

"One question."

"Yeah?"

"How are you, a fully human 'fight for the right' man, going to lead an army of Hell?"

Dean looked Crowley straight in the eyes, grinned, and said, "Who said I had to stay fully human?"

The demon rocked onto his heels. "Well, you do love him, don't you? You're ready to be like _me, _a _demon, _to save your angel?"

"Yeah, I am. Now, we got a deal? I want him out before his wings get crispy."

Crowley grinned back at him. "We do."


	4. Chapter 3

Hey y'all! So if you tell me some things you'd like to happen, I'll think about including them! Also, you can add some small moments that work with the plot and if they'll fit, I'll work them into the plot. As always, please review! Thanks :)

* * *

Dean took the demon's proffered hand. He shook once, then let it drop.

"What's the plan?"

Crowley's grin light up maliciously.

"Well you'll be happy to know Castiel is currently enjoying the finest my kingdom has to offer, so there'll be none of this 'traipsing into heaven' nonsense."

Dean flinched. He remembered Hell's 'finest' all too well. "Well that's too bad. I kinda liked the idea of kicking down the pearly gates. But let's get him out, I want him rare, not well done. But I want proof."

"Well, I'm almost insulted, Dean," purred Crowley in a hurt voice.

"Shut up."

"Fine. Let's take a trip back, shall we?"

"To?"

"His funeral."

He pulled what appeared to be a small compact mirror out of his coat.

"Have to adjust your makeup first?"

"Oh, aren't you just adorable. This mirror has powerful magic on it. Almost like time-based TV, if you will. We can replay any moment, check the present, or speed on forward. I'd get your tissues ready."

Dean leaned in, looking into the mirror. He saw Sam standing by an open grave, a simple pine box lying near.

"He didn't give him a hunter's funeral? That bitch."

"Shhh, you'll miss the heartbreaking speech."

They watched in silence for a moment. By Sam's last remarks of_ '_he's bad', Dean felt tears biting at his eyes. He willed them back, biting his inner lip. When he'd thrown the last shovel of turned earth onto the grave, Sam collapsed, sobbing into his hands.

"That's not proof," said Dean, turning away.

"No, but this is. Let's see what's happening now."

They looked back in. It was the same scene, almost. Sam was gone, the lighting different. A bird had landed in the distance and a squirrel was meandering around. Suddenly, a ring of what Dean could only describe as _dark_ flashed around the grave, pulsing out like a mushroom cloud. In moments, the serene landscape was blackened and burned, some trees still glowing with deadened fire. For a minute, nothing happened. Then, the earth started to shift. The new grave seemed to collapse in on itself for a moment, then a dirty, bloodied, and very alive Castiel crawled out of the grave. He pushed his way out of the soft earth then fell onto the dark, burnt grass, panting. He gasped and his hand flew to his abdomen. He ripped the still-bloodstained shirt away from the area, revealing an angry pink scar. His hand relaxed. It was then Dean noticed the pure terror in his eyes.

"How long?"

"I beg your pardon?" Asked Crowley.

"How long was he down there?" Queried Dean softly.

"Only a few hours, dear. Barely a day."

"You know what I mean. Not our days. Downstairs time, how long?"

Crowley looked at the mirror. Castiel was still on the ground on his back, staring into the sky. Tears rolled down his face.

"Almost a decade."

Dean swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Did he break?"

"Dean, no need to be beating yourself up. I need a general who's in one piece, not lovesick."

Dean knew the answer already. The King of Hell did not coddle people. He knew Cas must've broke, and broken bad. He asked again anyway.

"And you'll have one, as soon as I'm soulless. I asked you a goddamn question, you son of a bitch. Did he break? Did you have him skinning innocent souls down there?"

Crowley looked into his eyes. "Yes. He broke."

Dean looked down, breathing heavily. "How long did it take?"

"About a month."

Self-control sapped, angry tears fell from Dean's eyes. He muttered darkly, "Dammit, Cas…"

"Well, you know your angel's safe and sound in this dimension. Are we ready?"

Dean turned and looked straight into the demon king's eyes. He took a deep breath and thought,

"_Goodbye, Sammy. Goodbye, Cas. I hope I never see you again."_

He took another breath, readying himself. He spoke.

"Yes."

Crowley placed his hands on both sides of Dean's face.

"Sorry if this stings a bit."

Dean was on the ground in less than a second. All his time in Hell seemed as though it'd been summed up into one second, then it happened again and again. Inhuman screams ripped through his throat as he writhed on the ground. It felt like his body was burning as the soul was scorched out of him. Then it was over. So was Dean Winchester.

Crowley, who'd been standing at a distance looking respectfully away, looked at him. A small "Ah" escaped his lips. Dean stood.

He stretched out his limbs, hearing small pops in his joints. He felt like a thousand pounds had come off his shoulders, and his mind was opened to a whole new world. His imagination soared through thoughts he'd never dreamed of having before. Dark musings swarmed him and he said his first word as something other than human, and the last threads of good slipped from him.

"_Damn._"


End file.
